No Quarter
by The Sarcasm Master
Summary: It is 2048. When a plan to unite the world's countries in the form of a Worldwide Union is suggested, it is obviously a lot harder than it sounds. It is made even harder when an underground terrorist group known as Sanctum emerges. To internalize the problem, the United States government has decided to create an inter-agency task force to deal with Sanctum before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1: Beware of Band-Aids

**When looking around the site, I've noticed that there seems to be a notable lack of sci-fi Total Drama fics, which saddens me some. This will be a sort of futuristic crime fic, taking place in the not-so-distant future. ****Every single character in the Total Drama series will make some form of appearance, including PI characters, although they won't make appearances for a while, so no worries about spoilers for now. Enjoy!**

* * *

World peace was considered by all to be an impossible achievement that nonetheless people attempted to work towards. Human nature dictated that peace would be impossible. Conflicting interests and beliefs would always make sure that there was some conflict in the world.

However, after the struggles of the early twenty-first century, the major governments of the world proposed an idea. To create one giant union of countries in a manner similar to the European Union, only much, much bigger. Slowly but surely, most of the other nations in the world would hopefully merge into this proposed Worldwide would be simplified, all the countries would have common enemies in the problem countries. All issues between nations would be brought to the council's notice. Each nation would operate independently but ultimately answer to the union.

47 out of 196 nations had become part of the WU as of January 21st, 2048. The remaining 149 countries had varying degrees of problems to sort out, from civil wars to terrorism and a whole bunch of other horrible things, but people were hopeful that more and more nations would join as time passed by. For the most part, world peace was somewhat on its way to being attained, with a little luck and cooperation from other countries. Meaning that it most likely was just going to lead to war, but no one preferred to think about that. Of course, there were still tumultuous arguments where nothing was ever accomplished really, but that was politics.

Hampton Station was a tantamount to years of hard toil by nations to create this hopeful peace. Hampton Station was located in Boston, Massachusetts, and contained airplanes that would fly to anywhere in the realm of the WU, and as more and more nations joined, more and more flight destinations would be created. The entire ceiling was made of Plexiglas, and was regularly cleaned so that the shock and awe of sunlight streaming through the roof was kept fresh in peoples' minds. Tourism was of course very important.

Of course, it could have been cheaper to have a regular-style ceiling, but the effect was much greater and much grander this way. And it went without saying that there were many precautions in place just in case there was to be an attack on the station. On January 21st, 2110, the weather was partly cloudy, sunshine dripping through the water vapor tentatively and gently. The station was fairly busy, guards checking people in and out mechanically, the same thing over and over and over again.

The young man next in line was in his mid twenties. He wore a simple blue t-shirt and jeans, with headphones wrapped around his neck. A band-aid was stuck to his left arm. His chocolate brown hair was spiked up, and his tanned skin would make him look good if he weren't as precariously skinny as a lamppost. A bright smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face.

"Good day, sir!" the guard said with the demeanor of a man forced to keep up enthusiasm for his job the entire day. The college-aged man handed him his backpack. "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, I'm great!" the tanned college-aged boy said happily. "I'm going back to college, you know, winter break is over and all."

"That's really cool!" the guard grinned. "Where do you go to school, um..." The guard looked at the ID the boy had just given him. "Mike?"

"PU," Mike replied easily, his face completely straight. It took the guard a while to get the joke before bursting out laughing.

"That's a good one! Here, hand me your headphones." Mike obliged calmly, and walked through the metal detector without incident. Absentmindedly, he scratched the band-aid on his arm.

Having passed the checkpoint, he watched indifferently as the security guards opened his backpack and took out an empty can of spray paint. "Sorry, son, we're going to have to confiscate this," the guard said apologetically.

"No worries!" Mike chirped, and took the rest of his bag, although his grin faded slightly when the guard's gaze wasn't directed at him. The guard handed him his headphones before turning back to his post. Mike placed the headphones around his ears, and calmly peeled off the band-aid. Underneath was a square of plastic. While the guard was turned around, Mike's eyes narrowed and he calmly took a step towards the guard. Using his thumb, he pressed it into the guard's exposed skin.

The plastic chip sank into the guard's skin, steam rising from its acidic touch. The guard let out a scream of pain as he fell over clutching his throat as his breathing accelerated, the poison spreading from his mouth. His veins bulged and his body seemed to be breathing of its own accord, pumping out a gaseous toxin. As the screaming began, people began to inhale the poison and began crumpling, clutching their throats and eyeing their bulging veins, horrified. Mike pressed a button on his cordless headphones, and music began to play.**[1]**

Mike began to waltz with an invisible partner, humming along to the eerie melody as screams echoed in the background and poison gas clung to the floor. With a sweep of his hand, he combed his spiked hair down, letting it fall into one eye. A tourist stumbled to the ground in front of the placid murderer, and his veins exploded, spraying the area with blood. Mike waltzed out of the way and grabbed the empty spray can. He opened it. The psychopath placidly scooped up some of the blood with a handkerchief into the canister, swaying dangerously and mouthing the words to the lyrics as he did so.

He stood, walking casually, conducting to the beat as a guard yelled at him to put his hands up before falling over, asphyxiated like the rest. Smiling warmly, he patted the dying guard on the head. Turning to the wall, he sprayed the blood of the tourist onto the stone wall, still humming along. He frowned as he found that blood and paint were two entirely different substances and that it was rather difficult to create letters out of it, but eventually just used his hand to wipe off the blood so that the remaining substance formed letters on the wall.

As sirens began to wail, Mike Summers **[2]**, who preferred to go by Mal, daintily walked out the door, allowing some of the gaseous contagion to curl out as a helicopter proceeded to touch down right in front of him, right on schedule. He smirked, and climbed in. As backup arrived with suitable protection against the contagion, he couldn't resist flashing them a sardonic wave as well as flashing them something else.

Nothing was left in the station but dead people and sinister poison mist. The men in gas masks turned and saw the blood writing on the wall. "We need backup, fast," one of them whimpered nervously. "We need backup, fast!" he repeated, more forcefully, and voices began rising tumultuously as calls were made, politicians and agencies were informed, and the area was searched for any survivors.

The leader simply stood, staring at the wall where Mal's sloppy, crude blood writing had been written. He didn't know what it meant, but what he did know was that there was a new threat to the world, to peace. And precautions would have to be taken in order to stop it before it was too late.

_ Sanctum says hello._

Inside the helicopter, Mal took his headphones off his ears and looked down below him at the chaos he had crafted.

He smiled.

* * *

**Philadelphia, Pennsylvania**

**January 22, 2048 10:00 P.M. EST**

"Hello ma'am, welcome to Wiggin's Pub. You here for a drink?"

The bartender's voice was surprisingly rough for such a young and slim man. The woman sitting at the other side of the counter nodded to him. "Surprise me."

At first glance, one would think she was a relatively normal woman of her age. She was of Hispanic descent, wore conservative clothing, and had a certain professional air to her. One might have guessed her occupation as a lawyer. She spoke very formally and chose her words very carefully, and sat with perfect posture. However, if one were to train their eyes on the badge underneath her jacket, or the gun concealed in her pocket, one would reconsider exactly what they thought the woman's occupation was.

The bartender, however, did not notice, and prepared his customer a drink, which in this time meant pressing a button and having the drink be prepared in seconds by using machinery. The usual fare around those parts, not very good beer, but beer nonetheless. "Here ya go, ma'am," he said, sliding the drink over to the Hispanic woman.

"Thank you," she told him with a cordial smile. "Here's your tip." She passed him the money, and he smiled to himself. _It was always good to have a polite customer now and then, what with the rowdy crowds these days, _he thought. She took a tentative sip, wrinkling her nose, but continued drinking. Two months away from the job had left her a bit unsure of herself. But the reason that she had taken leave still lingered at the back of her mind.

She pressed two fingers to her forehead as she recalled the sound of a gunshot, of the screaming. It gave her a headache just thinking about it.

"It never seemed like you to drink, Mills."

Startled, Agent Courtney Mills turned around the chair to see a large and imposing African American man standing in the doorway. Agent-in-charge Dominic Hatchet, but everyone in the FBI referred to him as either "Hatchet" or "Chef." The nickname of Chef had come around during his days as a trainee, when he'd been cornered during a firefight and had thrown his own cooking at the perpetrator, knocking him out with the stench. The nickname stuck. Just like his meatloaf did to peoples' throats.

Courtney shrugged upon seeing him. "And it has always seemed like _you'd _be the one to drink, Chef."

Chef shrugged and sat down next to her. "I miss having you as an agent. Your behavior during the Sanford Case was exemplary, no matter what those fruitcake fops said."

"Here to reminisce about old times, sir, or do you have something for me?" Courtney, or as she was known on the job, Agent Mills.

"Hey! You! Drink! Now!" he shouted at the bartender. _And there's the usual crowd, _the bartender thought, sighing as he complied.

"You still have your way with people," Courtney giggled. "At least that hasn't changed."

Chef rolled his eyes. "I know you had some trouble after you lost your partner during the Sanford case, but I think this is something you're going to be interested in. A long-term opportunity. Maybe a little revenge."

Courtney perked up at this. "Sanford's dead. Killed himself. How could I get revenge?"

Chef smirked, and withdrew from his overcoat a square tablet, and pushed it over so Courtney could see. "You know how Sanford kept blabbering about Sanctum? But we could never figure out exactly who or what that was?"

Courtney didn't respond immediately, instead surveying photos of the carnage at Hampton Station. The veins of the dead bodies bulged while their faces were blue from asphyxiation. One man's blood vessels had all popped, spraying everywhere around him with blood. However, there seemed to be no trigger for the poison in sight. "Holy shit," she gasped. "What kind of bio-terrorism is this?" She scrolled down and froze as the blood letters on the wall stared her in the face.

Sanctum says hello.

Chef peered over her shoulder. "The United States government received a message from this 'Sanctum' a few hours after the attack. They're against the Worldwide Union, and all the countries in it. And this attack? It was caused by _one person."_

"Why, though?" Courtney furrowed her eyebrows. "The Worldwide Union is a great idea! Why would they want to shut it down?"

Chef shrugged. "No one knows. But they seem content to remain in the shadows, and we can't declare a war on people who could be anywhere at any time. We wouldn't want another Iraq. There's a lot of red tape involved, so the best we can do is contain whatever we can in our country. And they'll try to contain theirs. It's definitely not a perfect strategy, but it's the only plausible short-term solution. Sooner or later the WU will most likely be forced to convene and discuss this. Sanctum isn't an army, they're elites, which means that the army would be out of place."

"So what are you suggesting, then?" Courtney asked, sounding eager.0

"A special inter-agency task force dedicated to finding and bringing down Sanctum to the best of our ability," Chef declared calmly. "I thought you would want to be a part of it, given your history with Sanford."

Courtney's knuckles whitened as she clenched her fist. "Consider me in. I've moped around long enough. Who else do you have in mind?"

Chef took the square tablet and pulled up a different file. "We're considering starting off with maybe thirty or so members of your division, but the numbers should steadily grow should your success rate steadily grow. You would answer to me, and no one else. We have a couple of other agents in mind as part of your team."

"Okay," Courtney said expectantly. Chef lay down the tablet, showing a picture of a man with a pudding bowl-shaped head, a buzz cut, and a unibrow.

"Brick MacArthur, former cadet and fashion designer," Chef yawned, although it might have been concealing a chuckle. "Excellent investigator and fighter, but not very independent. Thought you might work well with him, you being the kind to take charge of things."

"So he'll be my partner?" Courtney inquired, slightly confused.

_"One _of your partners," Chef elaborated. "Your investigative team will be responsible for investigating these events with Sanctum's influence written on it, and you and your partners will be the highest rank in your division next to me. Your team will call the shots, direct the troops, search for clues. Every United States agency is concerned about this new threat now that two hundred and forty three people have been killed at Hampton Station."

"Okay, who else do I have with me?" Courtney continued. Chef was renowned for his stoic silences, but he could take a damn long time getting to the point.

Chef swiped the screen to the right., now showing a young, petite woman with long, platinum blond hair. "Dawn Raleigh, criminal profiler. She's incredibly intelligent, has a peculiar amount of empathy, and is capable of discerning emotions and motivations of killers. Plus, she's damn good with a pistol, despite her claims that she's only in this job to protect the world from bad people, not to kill them."

"And finally, we have Cody Anderson," Chef yawned, swiping the screen again. Cody appeared as a short, skinny young man with a gap in his teeth and a bright light in his eyes. "He's amazing with technology and science. When he first went into this line of work he thought he was going to be James Bond. He has a large ego, but that mainly stems from emotional neglect from his parents. He HAD to have a large ego or else he'd feel worthless."

"That must suck," Courtney sighed. "My parents were always pushing me to be the best. So these are the only people I'm going to work with?"

"No, there'll be others, but they'll be answering to you. For now, you can sleep, but I'd recommend not drinking. I'd like you at the crime scene tomorrow morning at 8:00, and I don't want to deal with your hangover. So. Are you ready to go back in the field? Get some payback?"

A grin spread itself across Courtney's face. It had been too long since she'd been out in the field. She'd finished moping now, and now the memory of the Sanford case fell to the back of her mind as the prospect of revenge became available to her. "Do you even need to ask?"

* * *

**[1] The song he's listening to is "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. For an enriched experience, try listening to that song while reading from that point on. Should give you a lot of insight to my interpretation of Mike/Mal's character. I blame Days of Future Past (amazing move, by the way).**

**[2] He was originally going to be named Mike Myers until I realized that Mike Myers is the name of the actor who plays Shrek.**

**This fic should be a long-runner, and one of my two major projects along with my Hunger Games crossover "From Drama to Death." Also, I thank Pika Scootaloo for my first TV Tropes recommendation for my "Beyond the Fourth Wall" one-shot (which you all should check out if you haven't already. :D) So, thoughts? Suggestions? Be sure to review, and stay tuned for next time.**


	2. Chapter 2: Hello, My Name Is

**Thanks for the reviews and support! This is going to be fuuuuun.**

* * *

**Hampton Station**

**Boston, Massachusetts**

**January 23, 2048 7:55 A.M. EST**

Hampton Station was deserted, which probably could have gone without saying. The entire block had been roped off from all civilians just in case the contagion had spread beyond the station. Courtney calmly opened her car door and stepped out, wearing a gray jacket with a brown turtleneck underneath, slacks, and comfortable but practical shoes. It was unseasonably warm enough for January that she felt slightly hot in her jacket, but too cold if she took it off. She elected to keep the jacket on. No rush.

An agent in a hazmat suit stepped into her way before she could cross a red line.

"Excuse me, miss, but you're going to need to put on a hazmat suit before entering," sthe agent said apologetically. He appeared to have a prominent jaw, and although it was difficult to tell underneath the suit, was actually quite physically capable.

"Ah, okay, that's probably for the best," Courtney stumbled with her words some. "I'm Agent Courtney Mills."

The man nodded in recognition. "In that case, I answer to you then. Agent Tyler Jefferson, at your service."

"Where is the rest of my team?" Courtney asked hesitantly, before realizing that she had rudely dismissed his introduction. "Oops. I'm sorry, Tyler. It's a pleasure to meet you." The two shook hands.

"Likewise," said Tyler, before pointing inside. "The rest of your team is already inside. So yeah, you should probably put on a hazmat suit."

Courtney sighed. "I'll get on it."

Five minutes later, Courtney walked into the station wearing a hazmat suit. Having already worn one before, she already knew how to move while in one of them, and didn't have much trouble. She walked into the station and her stomach did a somersault when she saw some of the casualties. "This is insane..." she mused in disgusted wonder. A shorter man was scraping some of the blood of the man whose veins had exploded into a vial.

Courtney tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man turned, and despite the suit obscuring his build and other features, Courtney recognized him as Cody Anderson. He grinned. "Ah, you must be Courtney! Nice to meet you." Cody hopped to his feet and stoppered the lid of the vial before handing it to another agent.

"Make sure that gets to Sam and Harold!" he yelled, and the agent quickly jogged away. "Anyway, Hatchet told me you'd be here. I heard about your work on the Sanford case." The two began to walk through the crime scene, talking as they did so.

"I prefer not to talk about the Sanford case," Courtney replied coldly. "But it's very nice to meet you. Your specialty is science and technology, right?"

"Correctamundo," he replied casually, a grin on his face. "Got my degree, chose to work here. I'm really loving this toxin. It's giving me a challenge, and I certainly like challenges."

"This isn't a game, you know," Courtney replied snappishly. "Hundreds of people died here. You should take yourself a bit more seriously."

Cody shrugged noncommittally, which was hard to convey in a hazmat suit. "Better than taking yourself too seriously and not enjoying life, right?"

"Not necessarily."

"Whatev. Point is, we've got a sample of the toxin so we should be able to figure out how this happened. What we still need to figure out is how do we track down who's responsible."

"Excellent analysis." The new voice came from another agent, and Cody and Courtney put a halt to their stroll as the third agent calmly walked up to them.

"Brick MacArthur, reporting for duty," the agent said with a salute.

"You're not in the army any more," Cody joked, rolling his eyes.

"I still think I should show respect to my partners," Brick said, sounding a bit insecure.

"You're fine," said Courtney with a reassuring smile. "Plus, it's rather nice to have respect. Nice to meet you."

Brick nodded in response, and the two shook hands. "I offer you the sincerest condolence for your loss a few months ago, by the way."

"I'm over it, moving on," Courtney replied, teeth grit. Brick looked hurt after this, so she relented. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's fine, ma'am. I understand how it feels to constantly be reminded of your loss. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Courtney said reassuringly.

"So, what do you guys think of all this?" Cody asked nervously, trying to change the subject. He gestured to the crime scene. "It's pretty crazy."

"I think it's despicable and horrifying," said Brick.

"I think it's completely disgusting," said Courtney.

Cody shrugged and did not respond.

"What about the criminal profiler, Dawn?" Courtney asked. "Anyone know where she is?"

Cody jerked his thumb over to point at the vacated food court, where a figure in a hazmat suit was standing with her arms outstretched, palms down. The three walked over to her calmly, to find that she was talking to herself.

She took a deep breath in, then out. "All of this was planned. There is a reason to all of this. This is my design." **[1]**

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Brick asked politely, but Dawn paid him no attention. "I could have done it differently," she said, and her three teammates waited for her to finish. "But I didn't. I'm showing off. This is what I can do, what we can do. This is a display, a show of power, a show of ruthlessness." Her eyes flickered open and she glanced around, seeing her new partners. "Oh! I'm sorry!" she said, sounding embarrassed. "I was busy."

"It's good. My name is Courtney." The two shook hands. "Your job is to think like the killer?"

"Partly," said the profiler. "I'm also just as good a shot as all of you are, but I prefer not to fight. My area is mainly investigation. But I can fight if necessary."

Courtney nodded. "Okay. Well, we're all here. How far are we into the investigation?"

"Sent the blood in to the lab, you saw me do that," Cody responded. "We're looking at the tapes, we should be able to find out exactly what happened and who we're looking for. My bro Tyler is working on it."

"Do you have to call him your _bro?" _Courtney sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes," was Cody's response. "I think we're finished here. We're not the ones that have to put these guys in body bags and tell their families. Yeesh...the funeral industry is going to go overtime."

Dawn sighed. "It saddens and sickens me to see how Sanctum has such disregard for human life."

"Let's get out of these suits at any rate," Cody said. "Tyler should be waiting for us."

"Agreed," said Brick.

Five minutes later, the four of them walked outside in their regular clothing after making sure they were well out of the danger zone for the toxin. Brick wore a cotton t-shirt with a gray jacket over it, while Cody wore a polo shirt with jeans, which made him look completely ordinary. Dawn, on the other hand, wore a green sweatshirt and slacks, making her appear rather odd to look at.

"Oy! Tyler!" Cody called.

"Shouldn't you refer to him by his title? We're not exactly a high school club here," Courtney huffed.

Cody rolled his eyes. "Okay then, _Agent Mills. _Yeesh, it's like you want to suck the life out of everything."

"As I said before," Courtney replied, teeth grit. "There are lives at stake here. You need to start taking this seriously."

"Why can't we all just get along?" Brick asked rhetorically, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.

Dawn responded instantly. "Because Agent Mills and Cody have differing styles of living their lives and that will inevitably lead to conflict." Courtney noted that Dawn had referred to them how they each preferred to be addressed.

"That was rhetorical," Brick responded, and Dawn nodded in dawning (no pun intended) comprehension.

Tyler, now clad in a crimson jacket and other moderately casual clothing, waved to them, a tablet in his hand. "Got the footage from the security cameras right here. Suspect's name is Mike Summers. He's a real piece of work. He had a really traumatic and messed up childhood and ended up killing everyone related to him. He was seven at the time."

"Poor soul," Dawn sighed, sounding genuinely sympathetic for the terrorist.

Tyler cleared his throat before continuing. "He's kind of insane. Apparently he has a reputation as a mercenary. Traveled outside of the WU so we couldn't track him down and he only got worse from there."

"Can we view the footage?" Courtney asked politely, and Tyler nodded, handing over the tablet. The four agents watched the footage as Mike cheerfully chatted with the security guard before pressing his band-aid into the back of his neck. That was when the whole contagion began to spread.

Courtney shut off the footage, breathing a heavy sigh. "Well. Now we know who we're looking for."

"Hey! Cody!"

Cody turned to see a slightly overweight man with stubble, curly hair, and glasses holding another tablet. "We analyzed the blood sample on-site using the Portable Reader."

"Nice job, Sam!" Cody grinned, and the two high-fived while Courtney scowled at their unprofessional behavior, arms folded. "Where's Harold?"

"Currently drawing out some spinal fluid," Sam shrugged. "Thought it might help. Anyway, we figured out how the contagion works. It dissolves into the bloodstream and travels to the heart and lungs, then takes it over. It starts pumping blood at too fast a rate, and forces the lungs to exhale a gaseous form of the toxin which allows it to spread faster and at a quicker rate."

Courtney pursed her lips before turning to Tyler. "Tyler. Peruse the records, try to find out where this toxin originated. If there's no leads, then Sanctum could be producing this themselves, and en masse."

"That would be bad," Brick rubbed his arm nervously.

"Searching," Tyler said, inputting the key phrases into the tablet, and waiting. About a minute later, he snapped his fingers in satisfaction. "Found it. The search turned up a company called Stahl Industries as having created the toxin, though the exact details are classified."

"The weapons company?" Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow, a slight note of distaste to her voice.

"The one and only," Cody said, folding his arms, trying to look like a cool and composed FBI agent, like the ones in the movies or the TV shows. Unfortunately, his build negated this effect, and if Courtney wasn't so uptight about the whole thing she probably would have laughed.

"Where's their nearest headquarters?" Brick asked cautiously.

"Downtown Boston," Sam immediately replied, much to the surprise of the others. "Their CEO operates out of there. The dude's a genius, apparently. Took over from his dad when it was just a small-time business, then turned it into one of the biggest weapons contractors in the WU."

"Schedule an appointment as soon as possible," Courtney said immediately. "Agent Jefferson, alert all police forces to be on the lookout for Mike Summers. Take him alive if possible, but don't hesitate to kill him if it's the only option."

"Yes ma'am," Tyler grinned. "I'll get right on it!" The excitable agent simply pressed a few buttons on his

"So who's coming with me?" Courtney asked. "Just in case this supposed 'genius' CEO really does have something to do with murdering hundreds of innocent people. I honestly doubt it, considering he's one of the WU's biggest clients, but it couldn't hurt."

"I will accompany you, ma'am," Brick said.

Cody shrugged. "Might as well."

"I'll come as backup, just in case," Tyler raised his hand.

"I'll pass," said Dawn. "I'm going to try to discern Mike's motivations, what he might try to do next. And hopefully how to get him to stop. I believe there's good in everyone."

Courtney nodded in confirmation. "So it's settled then. Agents MacArthur, Anderson, and I will speak with the head of Stahl Industries while Jefferson and other men will remain outside just in case. Agent Raleigh will remain behind to further her analysis on Mike Summers. We clear?"

"Crystal," Dawn chimed. The agents separated, and entered their respective vehicles in the parking lot before driving away.

Sam stood awkwardly at the spot where everyone else had been talking, not moving. "Um...okay then. I guess I'll just stand out here alone then...yeah, yeah...that's cool. Woo hoo." Silence, and the wind started blowing, and he almost imagined a tumbleweed blowing across the street.

"I'll just go inside then."

* * *

**FBI Headquarters**

**Boston, Massachusetts**

**January 23, 2048 9:00 EST**

Chef Hatchet sighed, tapping his digital watch irritably. The guest was late, per the norm, except that he was usually only late by five to ten minutes. While this time, he was a full half hour late, and matters of national importance obviously came second next to imagery and publicity. At least, in a politician's eyes. Hatchet had already been in communications with said politician for some time, so it pissed him off that he was late.

Eventually, finally, the door to his office was flung open, and he directed a death glare at the man standing before him. Long, black surfer hair, a moderately muscular build despite his being of average height, and a practiced grin on his face. He wore his usual tuxedo, making him look either dashing or like a used car salesman, depending on who you asked.

"McLean, you've got a lot of nerve showing up a full spanking half hour late," Hatchet growled, curling his fingers into a fist. "Let me guess. Hair products?"

"Nope!" the politican, also known as Chris McLean chirped. "Publicity stunt! So yeah, sorry about that."

Behind him and to his left was a younger man with gelled up sandy hair and a cleft chin. The younger man chuckled. "Yeah, Mr. McLean's popularity with the polls have skyrocketed thanks to that last stunt! Superb acting on that commercial, by the way!"

"Thank you, Topher!" Chris replied, grinning cheekily while taking a seat across from Hatchet. "I probably could have been an actor if I hadn't been a politician."

"There's hardly a difference," Hatchet muttered, to which Chris paid no attention. Topher seemed to not mind standing behind Chris without any seat, and Hatchet rolled his eyes.

"Dismiss your assistant, please," he ordered flatly, and Chris nodded to Topher, who reluctantly exited the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

"So what's the deal? You talked to me about this Sanctum thing, what exactly is it?" Chris kicked his legs back rudely, placing his hands behind his head.

"It's a terrorist group aiming to dismantle the Worldwide Union at any cost, and I thought I would warn you about it, considering you're the biggest advocate for the policy."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't be surprised if that bitch Mildred was behind it. That woman just loves to block me at every turn."

"I'm sure she'd love to hear you say that considering I was recording this conversation," Hatchet said with a smirk. Chris's eyes widened so that they looked like saucers in his skull. Hatchet's face remained composed for about five seconds before bursting out laughing. "Oh, you should see the look on your face! Priceless..."

Chris scowled. "I thought you were supposed to be a stone cold, silent type FBI guy."

"I thought you were supposed to be a honest politician," Hatchet replied, although it was perfectly clear he didn't mean it.

Chris sighed wearily. "Anyway, you were saying?"

Hatchet cleared his throat. "I thought I would warn you about Sanctum. Your advertising campaign for the WU is the largest in the country. Don't you think that would be a target painted across your back?"

"When I win the election this November," Chris replied, lax. "I'll have the Secret Service."

"Kennedy, Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley..." Hatchet rattled off, to which Chris interrupted, irritated.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Chris exclaimed, waving his hands around.

"You're also not President _yet," _Hatchet stressed. "I would advise that you look into some advanced security. Sanctum took down Hampton Station with one man. I'm just warning you."

Chris huffed, standing up and straightening his tie. "Thank you for your consideration and all. I'll keep it in mind."

"No you won't," Hatchet replied, savvy as to Chris's smug notions of his invulnerability.

Chris shrugged at this. "I said I'd keep it in mind, and I will, don't you worry."

"That's reassuring," Hatchet replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway, I'll be seeing you around, Chef." The politician swaggered out the door. "Topher! Come on! We're leaving!"

"Yes sir!" the suck-up replied excitedly, and Hatchet quietly facepalmed as the door slid shut in front of him.

"Arrogant, self-centered foppy fruitcake..." Hatchet continued to mumble under his breath furiously before busying himself with a menial case that wasn't related in the slightest to Sanctum.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

**[1] Hannibal Reference Counter: 1**

**Well, looks like they have some leads. If any of you can guess who Mr. Stahl is (it really shouldn't be that hard) I'll give you a cookie. Hoping all the characters are represented well, especially the PI ones (congrats Topher on being the first one to show up). And be sure to review! Not going to force you (not even sure how I COULD force you), but it would be much appreciated.**

**Thank you, and goodbye.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Enigmatic Mr Stahl

**Doop dee doo, what do I put here? Oh! Right! Someone's getting a cookie today! Whoop whoop!**

* * *

**Stahl Industries Building**

**Boston, Massachusetts**

**January 23, 2048 11:13 A.M EST**

The Stahl Industries building in Boston was the main headquarters of the weapons company, and it showed. The sleek and industrial skyscraper was renowned for its streamlined and eye-pleasing design and its practicality. Precautions for every potential situation were drilled into its employees' heads (not literally, fortunately), and all in all it was simply breathtaking to look at and to examine in its complexity. Of course, if it happened to be part of a conspiracy responsible for hundreds of deaths at the hands of one of its toxins, that would somewhat ruin the effect.

Courtney, out of habit, shifted her eyes around constantly, scanning the lobby as the sliding doors cheerfully allowed them access. Cody, Brick, and Tyler trailed behind her. Courtney generally had a very commanding presence, and it only seemed natural to most to follow her lead. She strode with inborn confidence towards the desk lady, who looked up to see four rather out-of-place people walking up to her.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Courtney held up her badge proudly. It wasn't that she was vain about her status as an FBI agent. It was simply that it helped to appear confident in front of others. "FBI. We have an appointment with Mr. Stahl, do you happen to know where his office is?"

"Sixtieth floor," the desk lady yawned, making her contempt as apparent as possible without actually doing anything wrong.

"Thank you," Courtney replied politely, bowing her head slightly. Cody rolled his eyes at this, to which Brick elbowed him in the shoulder.

"Elevator's to your right," the attendant sighed defeatedly, as if she'd had to do this sort of thing all day (which she likely had).

The four agents calmly entered the elevator, and Tyler pressed the number 60, and they quickly grabbed onto the rail as the elevator shot up. The four remained quiet as the humming of the air conditioner unit filled the empty space.

Finally, the silence was broken by Cody. "You know, this would be a really good spot for someone to gas the elevator and kill us."

"Where did that come from?" Tyler asked confusedly.

Cody shrugged. "Just sayin'. If these guys really are behind it."

"Doubt it," Brick spoke up. "Stahl Industries is allied with the US government, it wouldn't make a whole lot of sense for them to betray that."

"Agent MacArthur is right," Courtney agreed. "We just need to make sure. Dawn and Sam should be working on tracking down Summers."

The sound of the elevator door opening brought their conversation to a conclusion. The four walked out of the elevator and into the hall, admiring the sleek narrow architecture. The sound of high heels on floor turned their heads. She was incredibly pretty, with long blond hair and large blue eyes, but most male gaze would be directed towards her chest area, for obvious reasons. She wore an olive green jacket over a purple shirt, and a dark skirt. She held a clipboard in her hand and smiled brightly in their direction.

"Hi! You must be the FBI agents! My name is Lindsay. Mr. Stahl's office is right this way, so please follow me!"

"Don't mind if I do," Cody replied with a grin, while Tyler wolf whistled, to which Lindsay giggled.

"You're supposed to be professional," Courtney scowled, teeth grit as they followed Lindsay through the corridor.

"Hey, look," Cody said defensively. "Remember the conversation we had about not sucking the life out of everything?"

"Sir, I believe Agent Mills is right," Brick put in his share. "You shouldn't ogle a girl when there are lives at stake."

Cody crossed his arms and pouted, while Tyler chuckled.

"Okay! Here we are!" Lindsay chirped happily, opening a door labeled "Stahl" and holding the door open for the agents. The four walked in slowly, examining the office before them.

Everything was neat and orderly, and like the rest of the building, was incredibly sleek and streamlined in design. A window took up an entire wall, overlooking the city, while his desk contained holographic files and paperwork, giving proof to the claim that Stahl Industries was economically friendly apart from the whole weapons aspect. Mr. Stahl appeared to be standing at the window with his hand on the glass, looking out over the city.

"Mr. Stahl! The FBI are here to see you!" Lindsay called, and the man turned around. He was Indian, and appeared to be a little below average height. His chocolate brown hair was neat and combed, and he wore a suit and tie. A deadpan expression seemed a permanent fixture on his face, but upon seeing the four FBI agents in his office, his lip curled up slightly.

"Good day," he replied, a note of irony in his voice.

"Mr. Stahl, it's a pleasure to meet you," Courtney stepped forward, offering her hand to shake. "I'm Agent Courtney Mills."

"Please," the businessman replied, "call me Noah. I like to have some..." He cast a glance at Cody, who was dressed the most casually of the four. "...informality. Have a seat."

The four agents took their seats, while Lindsay stood happily. "Should I be leaving, sir?" she asked in the same tone of voice.

"It would probably be for the best," Noah nodded to her, and she smiled happily before exiting the room.

"Uh, I'll wait outside too!" Tyler said, rising to his feet. "Just as...you know, backup." Awkwardly, he walked out of the room.

"Who's she?" Cody asked, and it was clear his intent.

"My assistant," Noah replied simply, and Cody grinned.

"Ahhh, I see what this is about, you sly dog...you know, the tabloids said you were gay. Guess you proved them wrong..."

"You were reading tabloids?" Noah deadpanned, sitting down and placing his hands behind his head. Cody realized his gaffe, blushing as all eyes turned to him.

"Um...uh..."

"And, _honey,_ you seriously assume that just because I have a female assistant, I'm automatically screwing them?" Noah asked, a raised eyebrow on his face.

"Ahem," interrupted Courtney. "We have other things to talk about."

Noah rolled his eyes, ignoring her. _"Hi! I'm a perverted weirdo! You have a female assistant? You two must be having sex! Can I touch your boobs? Of course I can! BOOBIES! Oh...you're a man? Shit..." _the cross-eyed CEO said entirely in falsetto, mocking Cody and making him lower his head in shame and embarrassment.

"I don't sound like that..." he muttered angrily, fists clenched.

"Ahem," Courtney said again. "We're not here to discuss your assistant or your sexuality. We're here about the incident at Hampton Station."

Noah's face flickered slightly. "Ah. Yes. We should get to the point. So, known mercenary Mike Summers gasses an entire station. I can see why that would be worrying. My sympathies are extended to the families of those lost."

"So you understand why we're here," Brick asked for confirmation, and Noah nodded.

"The toxin," Noah sighed, crossing his legs. "Ah, yes. You see, that particular toxin was a project for the CIA."

"The CIA?" Brick asked, and Noah scoffed.

"Polly want a cracker?" he asked drolly.

"Explain yourself," Cody responded, colder than usual.

"Of course," Noah said faux-sweetly. "For_ you, _dear."

Cody gulped, glancing around nervously at the CEO's come-ons. Which was of course the intended effect.

Noah cleared his throat before beginning. "We were asked by the CIA to create a toxin capable of being transferred via a handshake. It would be capable of murdering anyone as long as there was physical contact. However, we hadn't perfected it. We were trying to keep it from spreading to other people and just remain in the person whom the chip made contact with. Unfortunately, before we could perfect it, the facility it was being housed in was robbed, and the toxin was stolen."

"Confirmation?" Brick inquired.

Noah pushed a tablet over to the agents. "File XB-3214, please." The tablet immediately complied, and the four agents observed the footage. Four masked figures walked into the facility, shooting down the guards and quickly disarming the cameras.

"Go back," Cody said. Noah complied. The short clip played again, and Cody held up his hand. "Pause."

"What's the matter?" Courtney asked.

"It's definitely Summers," Cody said, crossing his arms. "Same height, precariously skinny muscle structure, gait, and skin color. Sanctum was definitely behind this."

"Okay, whoop de doo. Nothing new has been established," Noah yawned.

"Actually, we've established that your unfinished toxin supposedly for use of the CIA was stolen by a group of robbers," Courtney corrected, standing up and dusting herself off.

"Supposedly? Do you doubt my credibility?" Noah asked, sounding hurt. "Ask your boss Hatchet. This toxin was a project for the CIA. Sanctum got a hold of it, and now people are dying and you've just unearthed everything I know. Now it's up to you to bring the perpetrators to justice, Agent Mills." Noah stood, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair. "I think we're done here."

Courtney nodded, and the other two agents stood up as well. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Stahl."

"The pleasure's all mine," Noah replied coyly, looking at Cody as he said so. Cody gulped.

The three agents exited the room, and the door slid shut behind them. Cody sighed in relief. "Thank God. He was freaking me out."

"That was his intent," Courtney snapped. "He was only flirting with you to make you feel uncomfortable, and it worked. He's a slippery one, all right, but now we know the circumstances behind the theft. Now we just need-"

She was interrupted by her phone ringing. Courtney fumbled around, pressing a button and holding her rather old-fashioned phone up to her ear.

"Hello?"

_"Agent Mills, it's me, Dawn. We've scoured surveillance cameras all over the area, and Mike was seen entering an apartment in the poor area of Boston. We've got the coordinates and are tracking him now. Would you like to lead the raid?"_

"Yes please. We found out about the origins of the toxin. Apparently, it was created for the CIA. Thank you."

_"No problem." _Courtney placed the phone back in her pocket, and Tyler walked up to them, grinning. He turned back and waved to Lindsay, who waved back excitedly before entering a different room.

"Professional behavior, please," Courtney hissed, and Tyler gulped.

"Yes sir," he replied hesitantly. "What's up?"

"Boston slums, we'll be meeting up with a SWAT team on the way there," Brick explained, as they walked into the elevator.

"From there, all hell will break loose."

* * *

**Lavender Road**

**Boston, Massachusetts**

**January 23, 2048**

Slush from the previous night's rain was even more prominent in the poverty-stricken portion of Boston. Cars regularly slid through the water, often splashing passerby, and occasionally beggars, which seemed cruel, but it was more ignorant sadism than anything. And it was in this cloudy, post-rain wasteland that a short and skinny man in a hoodie walked through. His hands remained firm in his pockets, and his head was cast downward. He'd probably fit in if he weren't as thin as a toothpick.

And it was said small and precariously thin stature that attracted the attention of several thugs. The small man's jacket and jeans were clean, and he walked with an uncomfortable gait marking him as not from around the area and unused to the kinds of people involved in them.

"Oy! Mister!" The leader thug, a _very _attractive man complete with square face, broken teeth, stubble, and a putrid stench. Charming fellow, really. "You wouldn't happen to be _lost, _now would you?"

The smaller man scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well...um...not really. Seems like a bit of a cliche to have a thug like you ask that when I know what you're really after."

Two other equally suave thugs menacingly stood to either side of the small man, and he looked around nervously. The thug in front of him adopted a wounded expression.

"Well...now that just...really breaks my heart," the gonk said, sniffing and faking tears. "I guess I'll just have to return the favor, huh?" The maniac raised his knife, and the small man tried to run but was stopped by the man to the side, causing his hood to fall off, revealing him as African American, with a round head and glasses.

But before he could lower the blade, he was tapped on the shoulder from behind him. "WHAT?" he snarled, whirling around to face the second figure before him. Mike, or Mal, wore a black coat and green scarf.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled, trying to intimidate the thin man. "Huh? Think yourself a hero?"

"I just have one question for you," Mal said calmly, and the thug tilted his head slightly in confusion.

"And what's that?" he sneered, not intimidated in the slightest. In fact, he rather thought the 'savior' looked kind of dorky. Kinda looked like a pencil.

Mal spread his arms wide open, a thin-lipped smile on his face. "Could I get a hug?" **[1]**

"Huh?" The thug's face was a look of blank confusion, and suddenly Mal's face changed, and in a blinding blur he snarled and proceeded to stab the thug in the chest. Over and over and over again. Until he was lying on the floor bleeding to death, sputtering. The other two thugs watched in horrified fascination as their leader, the person who ordered every single thought of theirs, bled to death, gasping for life, until he finally breathed his last.

Mal took a deep, heavy breath, before looking at the two others, and then smiled thinly, making his lips look incredibly stretched. "Anyone else want a hug?"

The two thugs promptly scrambled to get away from him, and Mal chuckled as they screamed madly in their attempt to get as much distance between them and the lunatic as possible.

"Well, your knight in bloody armor has showed up, it seems, Cameron." Mal shrugged, standing up and wiping himself clean of blood. "And now I've got fucking blood on my shoes. Just perfect." **[2]**

"That was unnecessary!" Cameron yelled back at him. "I know you enjoy killing, but there was no need for that! You don't need to kill everyone you meet, Summers."

"But what if I want to?" Mal mock-whined, crossing his arms and pouted his lip.

"You just killed hundreds of people, unnecessarily, I might add. Now, you know I'm not a 'true believer' of Sanctum's goals. I'm only in this because otherwise, I'm just a poverty-stricken, unlucky scientist. And I plan to get out of these wretched dealings once this is all over."

"I'm just in it to kill people," Mal yawned. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Cameron seethed. He really didn't want to be in this position. "Just...control yourself more next time."

"No promises. Now, let's get back to base, shall we?" Mal asked, and Cameron nodded, and together, the psycho and the scientist exit the scene, leaving no indication of a fight. Apart from the bloodied corpse of a thug, of course.

* * *

**Key and Lock, you get a cookie! And thanks all for reading, and hope to see y'all review, but I won't force ya. Noah was the obvious choice, and I hope you like the way he's presented. Enter Cameron...and Lindsay! Can't forget about Lindsay.**

**See ya!**

**[1] Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series. Melvin. That is all.**

**[2] Far Cry 4 trailer looks badass.**


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